


The All Wrapped Up Affair

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first the girls were very well behaved, intensely polite, and reserved and Napoleon waited for the other shoe to drop.  When Monique suggested they play a board game, Napoleon agreed, but with reservations.  They directed him to the closet and he looked inside, never expecting the shove that pushed him into the back wall or the murmured, “Pardon, monsieur, but we prefer blonds.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The All Wrapped Up Affair

 “Us?   Acting as glorified baby sitters?  Isn’t that a bit outside of our usual line of work?”  Illya’s tone indicated just what he thought of this assignment.

“I’ve heard of these two,” Napoleon admitted as they left Waverly’s office.  “They have gotten more bodyguards fired than anyone I know.”

“A bit of a handful?”

“According to Murphy down in Files, they are sexual dynamite.”

“Dynamite I understand, but I will admit confusion now.”

“They are built like Venus and from what I hear, impossible to resist.”

“So?”

“They’re also sixteen.”

“Hmm, that makes a bit of difference.  You have to remember that women in Europe are sexually more advanced at an earlier age than your American women.”

“Which doesn’t matter when facing a judge over statutory rape in the U.S., my friend.  Here, they are minors.”

“And are you afraid that you will be unable to resist their charms, Napoleon?”

Napoleon opened the folder he was carrying and pulled out a photo.  It made Illya stop dead in his tracks.

 _“Bozhe Moi,”_ Illya murmured, his cheeks pinked and his pupils dilated.  “What father lets his daughters pose like that?”  He turned the photo sideways and sighed.

“Theirs, apparently.  Those are called boudoir shots by the way.”  Napoleon tapped the photo with a finger.  “We are sailing into dangerous waters, partner.”

“The fact that you know that is slightly disturbing to me.  The fact, however, remains they are still only sixteen, Napoleon.  Surely you remember being that age once.  I do.”

“I’ll bet when you were sixteen, though, you could blow up a building, shoot a feather off a bird in flight and outthink your professors.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t precocious.”

“Or overly modest…”

                                                                                ****                     

At first the girls were very well behaved, intensely polite, and reserved and Napoleon waited for the other shoe to drop.  When Monique suggested they play a board game, Napoleon agreed, but with reservations.  They directed him to the closet and he looked inside, never expecting the shove that pushed him into the back wall or the murmured, “ _Pardon, monsieur_ , but we prefer blonds.”

Now he, Napoleon Solo, had been locked in a closet by two young women.  The humiliation was almost too much.   Overshadowing his embarrassment was the fact Illya had not come to his rescue.  He’d called for his partner, but nothing had happened.  He pleaded, he yelled, he threatened, and as the minutes ticked by, he admitted defeat and took matters into his own hands.

Annoyed, Napoleon worked a button free from his shirt and attached it to one hinge, then repeated the process with the lower hinge.  Pressing his watch stem, the explosives flared and Napoleon coughed as the closet filled with smoke. The door did give way and Napoleon glared at the chair that had been wedged beneath the doorknob.

He looked around for a moment and then stormed out of the parents’ bedroom and into the main body of the suite.  The two girls looked over at him, the very picture of calm and poise as they relaxed in their near state of undress.

“Where is Illya?”

“Oh, we were… how do you say… _jouer le médecin avec lui.”_ Giselle adjusted her garter belt and smiled.

“Playing doctor?”  Napoleon squeaked.  Surely Illya wouldn’t take advantage of minors, even with these two temptresses.  Then again, Illya was only a man.

 _“Oui_ , but I sink we tired him out.  He’s gone very quiet.”  Monique fluffed her hair and her full round breasts hitched up, nearly bursting forth from the confines of her Merry Widow.

“Where is he?” Napoleon swallowed and thought harsh things to himself.

“We left him in ze bedroom, _endormi ou près de la mort.”_

“Asleep or dead?”  That was enough for Napoleon; he raced into the bedrooms and groaned.  There on the bed was Illya, wrapped from head to toe in long white strips.  They had left him a bit of breathing room, but Napoleon could only imagine what seven kinds of hell were going through Illya’s mind as he tried to wiggle free of his linen prison.

Napoleon raced to the bed and began to tear at the cloth, ripping it from Illya’s face.  Almost instantly he heard the man give a huge gulp as he pulled in much needed air. 

“Just hang in there, partner.  How did they get the drop on you?”

“No idea… I think they slipped me something.”  Illya’s voice was thick.

That’s when he heard Giselle talking.  “Oh, it is all right, Papa.  They are here, but they are in bed together at the moment.  Mr. Solo is unwrapping Mr. Kuryakin’s _chauve à col roulé_ _.”_   

Napoleon watched Illya’s face color and his mouth become a thin line. “Whatever you do, Napoleon, don’t let me go.  I will kill them and French and U.S. relations will never be the same.”

Napoleon stood up and snatched the phone from the giggling girls.  “Your daughters are fine, _monsieur._ Enjoy the rest of your meeting.”  Then he hung up and turned to them, his eyes hard as black diamonds.  “And now we play by my rules.”

When their father returned, the young girls were very quiet and politely thanked the UNCLE agents.  As Napoleon turned to leave, the man caught his arm.

“ _Monsieur_ Solo, I know my girls are a bit of a handful, but how did you manage to work such a miracle?”

“I reasoned with them, _monsieur.”_

“Reasoned?”  

They walked out the door and Napoleon grinned at his partner.  “Feel like some dinner?”

“Anything but French.  Tell me, Napoleon, what did you tell them to make them behave?”

“I told them I would have their names written in every bathroom in Paris saying how terrible they were in bed.”

“And it worked?”

“Never underestimate the ego of a young girl, Illya, especially that of a young French girl.”  He smiled and slapped his partner on the shoulder.  “Remember I was sixteen once myself.”


End file.
